A/N: Someone on tumblr made a joke about this and it became the jump-off point for my own silly bit of headcanon. If the end bugs you, please go read any other Hero's Cuties fic and leave me to my strangeness. :)
Mr. Fix-It
In many ways, Tamora was grateful she hadn't married Brad. There was guilt about feeling this way, yes, but when she really stopped to think about it she had to be honest with herself. Their relationship would have crumbled from the inside out. Now that he was gone, she had to face the truth.
She sat at the bar in Tapper's, nursing a drink and trying to keep her eyes focused on the racks of bottles ahead instead of wandering toward the scantily clad woman from the fighting game who sat alone at a corner table. Fierce eyes were trying to bore a hole into a blue bottle on the right side of one shelf when a hand tapped her shoulder. It was all Tamora could do to resist her trained reflexes and not punch the little fellow standing behind her.
"Um, excuse me ma'am, can I buy you a drink?"
He was short, his blue workman's cap just barely taller than the bar stool on which she sat. His face was shy and hopeful and classically pixelated. She already felt bad for what she had to say.
"You can, but I'm not really your type, pal."
"Oh, well, that's alright. Can I sit with you anyway?"
She smiled. "Sure."
They sat in a companionable silence for awhile, she drinking a hard liquor he had blushed to hear the name of while he sipped from a glass of root beer. He introduced himself as a handyman from a thirty-year-old arcade game and she talked a little about her alien-infested world. Within half an hour they were cracking jokes.
"Are you sure I can't invite you to Forrest Food Fight for a picnic sometime, miss, er, Sgt. Calhoun?" he asked after his fourth drink, a bit of pixelated color to his cheeks.
Tamora sighed, all joviality draining away. She hadn't wanted to mention it, classic games could be a little uptight about these things, but it seemed there was no way around it and she had sworn to be honest, if only for her own sake.
"Look, Felix, you're a great guy, but..." she gestured to the fighter in the corner. "That's my type."
He blinked. "Fighting games?"
"Not exactly."
His face scrunched up slightly as he thought, one hand scratching at the brown hair under his cap.
"Oh," his eyes widened. "Oh!"
"Yeah," Tamora took a long pull from her drink.
Awkward silence fell between them. She was resigned to this new friendship being over when Felix squirmed in his seat. She glanced over to see him looking at the floor, blushing furiously and twisting his hands in his lap. He pulled a golden hammer out of his tool belt and lifted his face up toward hers, unable to meet her eyes.
"Uh...I can fix that," he said quietly.
If her earlier admission hadn't crushed the bud of their friendship, this was certainly going to do it. Tamora's face darkened and she readied herself to hit him so hard his only conversation for the rest of the night would be held with the floor.
Before she could raise her fist, the golden hammer snaked out and tapped her armor with a quiet chime. For an instant Felix looked extremely guilty, and then the universe realigned itself.
Felicity blinked and stared up into Tamora's bemused face. She was the same in almost every way except for a softening of the round face, a scruffy brown ponytail sticking out the back of her cap, and some slightly more noticeable curves. Tamora couldn't quite remember why she wanted to hit the other woman and the tension in her shoulders dissipated.
"Nice fix," she said, grinning and not entirely sure where the words had come from. "So you were saying something about a picnic?"
End.